Distant relations-People who imagine they have a claim to rob you if you are rich, and to insult you if you are poor.

Belle-A beautiful, but useless insect without wings, whose colours fade on being removed from the sunshine.

Heart-A rare article, sometimes found in human beings. It is soon, however, destroyed by commerce with the world, or else becomes fatal to its possessor.

Housewifery-An ancient art, said to have been fashionable among young girls and wives; now entirely out of use, or practised only by the lower orders.

Editor-A poor wretch, who every day empties his brain in order to fill his stomach.

Wealth-The most respectable quality of man.

Virtue-An awkward habit of acting differently from other people. A vulgar word. It creates great mirth in fashionable circles.

Honour-Shooting through the head a friend whom you love, in order to gain the praise of a few others whom you despise and hate.

Laughter-An agreeable and contagious convulsion of the human countenance on receiving a tailor's bill, or being asked to return an umbrella.

Law proceedings-Unbrushed cobwebs of the dark ages.

Cigar A slender yellow speckled tube, formed of the dried and folded leaves of a wonderful plant, discovered by Raleigh. When women turn false, and men selfish-when your creditor duns you like a fiend, and your debtor takes the "benefit of the act"-when the future looks dark, and the present dreary, by the fragrance of this little instrument, extracted by means of fire, you are for a brief period rendered insensible to every sorrow, and lulled into dreams more entertaining than those of sleep.

Satirical poems-Harmless impertinence in verse.

Marriage-The gate through which the happy lover leaves his enchanted regions and returns to earth.

Death-An ill-bred fellow, who visits people at all seasons, and insists upon their immediately returning his call.

Author-A dealer in words, who gets paid in his own coin.

Friend-A person who will not assist you because he knows your love will excuse him.

Wedded-bliss-A term used by Milton. Bargain-A ludicrous transaction, in which each party thinks he has cheated the other.

Doctor-A man who kills you to-day to save you from dying to-morrow.

Lunatic asylum-A kind of hospital, where detected lunatics are sent by those who have had the adroitness to conceal their own infirmity.

Jail-The penalty of misfortune, and often the reward of virtue.

Water-A clear fluid, once used as a drink.

Tragedian—A fellow with a tin pot on his head, who stalks about the stage, and gets into a violent passion for so much a night.

Critic-A large dog, that goes unchained, and barks at every thing he does not comprehend.

Impossibility-Breakfast on board a steam-boat without sausages.

Esquire-Every body, yet nobody; equal to General.

Jury-Twelve prisoners in a box to try one or more at the bar.

Young attorney-A useless member of society, who often goes where he has no business to be, because he has no business where he ought to be.

King's evidence-A wretch who is pardoned for being baser than his comrades. Public abuse-The mud with which every traveller is spattered on his road to distinction.

Political honesty-Previous lexicographers have not noticed this word, treating it, I presume, altogether as fabulous-for definition, vide self interest.

The grave-An ugly hole in the ground, which lovers and poets wish they were in, but take uncommon pains to keep out of. Modesty A beautiful flower that flourishes only in secret places.

Sensibility-A quality by which its possessor, in attempting to promote the happiness of other people, loses his own.

A young man of talent-An impertinent scoundrel who thrusts himself for

ward; a writer of execrable poetry; a person without modesty ; a noisy fellow; a speech maker.

Lawyer-A learned gentleman, who rescues your estate from your enemy and keeps it himself.

Dentist-A person who finds work for his own teeth by taking out those of other people

Fear-The shadow of hope.

Rural felicity-Potatoes and turnips. Tongue-A little horse which is continually running away.

My dear-An expression used by man and wife at the commencement of a quarrel.

Honesty-An excellent joke.

THIRTY years ago I was penniless and without a friend. I had engaged unsuccessfully in two or three forlorn speculations, in the course of which I wandered about the country with a reckless independence, sometimes mourning over the past, and sometimes anticipating the bleak and gloomy future. At length my funds and every invention to increase them were exhausted, and, shunning all society, I spent a week in devising plans by which I was to be rescued from my embarrassments. I was very young, and adversity was a strange thing to me. In the absence of all amusement and occupation, I devoted myself to rambling. I passed hours and whole days in roaming over the lovely scenery of one of the most picturesque countries I ever saw. I would start off in the morning, when the sun first peered above the glowing east, and, with a few hard biscuits in my pocket, push my journey I knew not and I cared not whither. I cannot describe the sensations with which I have awakened from my feverish slumbers, and gone thus abroad beneath the fair morning sky, when the fragrance was loosened from the thousand surrounding flowers, and every simple object of nature came up to my sight with sweet reality, after a night tinged with the colours of unhappy dreams; and as the sun

-Sprang gloriously

And freely up, and hill and river
Were catching, upon wave and tree

The arrows from his subtle quiver, I have seemed abstracted from the ties of society, and dwelt in the silence that was unbroken by any sound to remind me of

man, as if I had been a deer or a bird, or some other free and untamed creature of the forest gifted with human sense and feeling. Of the scenery around me I was completely enamoured. I lost every taste for other occupations. I wished to enjoy for ever this wild existence, in the midst of rocks, and trees, and rivers, watching the occurrences of the inanimate world, in the many capricious shapes in which life has sprung up in its mysterious connexion with matter.

There is every where through the works of Providence an assuasive influence above philosophy, inconsistent with violent emotion. Dear reader, if you are weary of the world-if life has gone with you so that you look upon it as a tedious and a hacknied story-if you have laboured long and are yet surrounded with want-if poverty has cut down the best feelings of your soul-if you have hoped and been disappointed-if you have trusted and been betrayedif some being, around whom your very heart's strings were woven, has been but yesterday returned to the dark earth,— go forth from the rude noise of busy men to the quiet and winning loveliness of a country scene. Look out some dell in the midst of a lonely forest, where the green bank, scented with a few wild flowers, slopes down to a running stream that sometimes dashes through a compressed channel, and sometimes expands into a silvery lake. The bending willow shall overhang its surface, and a few rocks jut their mossy points here and there into the transparent rippling water. When you lie down upon the

cool grass, the birds will alight near you, and warble their notes, and trim their beautiful feathers, with a confidence in you which you would deem it sacrilege to betray. Above your head, through the openings in the branches, pieces of blue sky will gleam upon you with clouds sailing silently, and if it be toward evening, and the red sun is going down to his golden couch, his crimson rays will stream through the trees, and fall upon some venerable bak, or the leaves of a grove, or the side of a high rock, or the bosom of a glassy stream, lending them all a beauty like that of fairy land. Before you have numbered half of these simple and common things in nature's history, though there have been a tempest of wild and gloomy resolutions in your mind, it will all pass away unconsciously; you will be inspired with a resignation to the will of Providence singularly opposite to your former recklessness, and be filled with a softness of grief dearer than the lightest flash of pleasure.

În such scenes, with such sensations, I yielded myself to the current of the world, and resolved again to seek upon its unstable billows for a reputation and a home. I wrote to a friend, who was the proprietor of an academy of some renown, and offered my services as an assistant. They were kindly accepted. His answer enclosed an advance of money to a considerable amount, and, in a few days, as if I were but the image of some changing dream, I found myself away from the wide green hills and shadowy woods of the country, pent up in a small room with a class of boys, whom I was to initiate into the mysteries of geography and astronomy.

The first lad was a dull, singular looking being, of a most unpromising exterior. Judging from appearances, the probability of teaching his "young idea how to shoot," seemed a matter of considerable doubt. I strove several times for a glimpse of intelligence in his mind in vain. It was like the labour of the Brazilian slave, digging in the sand for diamonds.

"Where is Asia ?" asked I.

He reddened, put out his under lip, and cast down his eyes, and at length found words to say,

"On the map, sir."

"Point to its real situation."

He stuck out his clumsy hand like the fore-paw of a dancing bear, and pointed in a direction about twenty degrees above the horizon. "What causes the day?” "The sun, sir."

"What causes the night?"
"The moon, sir."

I was quite satisfied as to the extent of his abilities, and passed on.

The next was a clear-complexioned, noble-looking fellow, with large dark eyes and glossy hair, curled about his high temples; his full lip was red like a girl's, and his voice sweet as music. He had a correct knowledge of what he had gone over, and a facility in learning whatever was placed before him. The few simple interrogations which I put to him were easily replied to, till at length he missed several in succession. Then came a shadow over his morning face, and the tears stole up softly into his eyes, and hung upon their long lashes trembling. I could not but wonder to myself if he had a sister, or a cousin, who resembled him; but what was that to me? So I went on.

The next had nothing to distinguish him from boys in general. His countenance was one of those common faces which we never notice. He had pins stuck in the sleeve of his coat, and twine hanging out of the corners of his pocket. His stockings had slipped down over his shoes, and the strings trailed along the floor. He fidgetted with his buttonhole, and put his foot in his lap, and at length got one of his companions laughing at something he had in his hand. I called him to me, and he thrust it into his pocket, which stuck out from his body as if it contained the whole of his personal estate. I desired him to empty it upon the desk, and forth came a medley of schoolboy treasures; isinglass— slate pencils-a ball-chewed India rubber-paper boats-a top, and among the rest, a fly-box, containing a most unfortunate prisoner, who, without judge or jury, had been summarily condemnedhis wings stripped from his back, and he hanged by a hair rope on an appropriate pine-wood gallows, which my friend had manufactured for the occasion.

The other was an awkward, lubberly, overgrown creature, with a pair of green eyes that looked like a cat's. His hair

He

stuck out straight on every side like a coat-brush; he had a huge nose that occupied a third of his face, and he spoke with a cracked voice that had as little of melody in it as the filing of a saw. sat upon the bench with as little animation as if he had been made out of putty, and though he did not answer any question, yet he exhibited no other sign of grief than might have been detected in a yawn that opened a mouth of most appalling dimensions.

Now mark the caprices of fortune. Thirty years have gone with the wind. I have taken an interest in watching the progress of my little class. The last mentioned grew up into a poet. He has written some of the most delightful stanzas I ever read. They breathe a

soul of the highest nature, and a heart stored with all that ennobles and sweetens life. The dunce whom I first examined, at this instant holds an office in the service of the State, where his deep knowledge of human nature, and his powerful talents, have made his name familiar to every ear, as his praises will be to future generations. He in whom I found nothing to distinguish him from common boys, but his slovenly appearance, is now one of the neatest and wealthiest merchants in the city, and universally beloved for his intelligence and virtue; and the other, whose sweet face and brilliant mind won my affections immediately, and awakened the liveliest hopes of his future eminence, sleeps in the grave.

OUR reveries were broken not long since by the clerk's suddenly introducing a lady before us. Scribbling always unfits us for female society; we get stiff and moody; we have not the faculty of unbending in a moment, which we have so much admired and envied in others, and beside (we like to be particular) we often write with our hat on. Upon raising our eyes, we found ourself face to face with a young creature, of a most prepossessing appearance, and attired with great neatness and taste, but very plainly. There is something extremely odd in meeting thus a pretty female in the haunts of business. We looked at her as at a flower bursting up from the pavements of a thronged street. Our hat almost came off itself, and we bowed her to a seat, in a state of peculiar suspense. She apologized-we told her "not at all."-"Oh yes, she had taken a great liberty, but under the peculiar circumstances-" "We were (as in duty bound) grateful for any circumstances which had favoured us with an opportunity of serving her." knew," she added, "Mr. B. had told her-every body had told her- there could be no impropriety in her taking the liberty," &c. &c. &c. She drew from under her cloak a small parcel.

"She

No-it could not be- yes, it was a manuscript! We looked it over, to afford her time to recover from a slight embarrassment. It was a novel, entitled the Three Spectres of St. Dennis." Scraps of the chapters caught our notice

"The youth knelt and kissed her hand"- Lady Amelia sat gazing at the moon"-" Traitor! cried the knight," &c. We complimented the penmanship. She blushed, and curtsied almost imperceptibly. "Indeed!" asked we, "have we the pleasure of a production from your own hand?" And a right pretty hand it was; ungloved, and graceful, with no other decoration than a plain gold ring.

"Oh no! no! sir," she replied. "And may we inquire whose it is then?"

66

It is written by my husband, sir." "And where is he, and why does he not come himself ?"

"Do not ask me, I beg of you; it is quite immaterial."-She appeared greatly distressed.

No dew ever came more gently to the evening flower than the moisture to the blue eyes that looked up at us a moment, half reproachfully, that we had rudely probed a painful wound, and then closed, ashamed of having betrayed so much

feeling before a stranger. Although we are an editor, and talk wisdom, we are (why should we conceal it?) a mere simpleton on such occasions, and as easily melted as any gentle shepherd of them all. Our situation was growing uncommonly interesting, when a fellow (broken bones be his lot!) thrust his huge head in suddenly, and inquired for the stereotype foundry of Mr. James Conner. We heartily wished Mr. Conner and his stereotype foundry in Egypt; while the fair incognito, hastily gathering up her cloak, and letting the hood fall over her face, withdrew, leaving the manuscript on the table. An hour afterward a boy brought a note. We recognised the hand instantly. The messenger could answer no questions; a lady had requested him to leave it, but he did not know who she was. It was brief, and merely stated that if we would either purchase the story for our journal, and publish it by chapters, or read and correct it, and recommend it to the firm of L. H. R. or indeed to any one from whom the author could derive a reasonable pecuniary recompense, we should confer a favour, a deep and lasting obligation, on one who would never forget. She could not have said more had we been the hero of a romance. There was something in the whole affair that awakened curiosity, and fanned the little dim spark of romantic sensibility that lay, far beneath the thoughts and feelings of later years, half buried among the relics of our boyish dreams. Who could she be? Her address was entirely that of a lady. Her soft white hand betrayed a life enjoyed without labour; and a glance at her modest face satisfied us that she was a timid, artless, and innocent being, unused to misery, but by some rough chance, destitute, and overcoming the natural sensitiveness of her character and sex for the sake of a husband evidently in great distress. By her accent she seemed a foreigner. Perhaps some enthusiastic girl, fled from her home to marry a youth "of low family," who was now sick, or in gaol, yet toiling to support her by his pen. If this piece, now, should prove a good one, what a lot would be ours! To follow with unceasing interest the events of a spirit-stirring romance; to usher it into fame. No obsequious courtier ever exerted himself more anxiously to laugh at the jokes of his patron, than we strove to weep over

the astounding facts related in the "Three Spectres of St. Dennis." We followed the heroine through dungeons and sepulchres, and the hero into scenes which might have quailed the heart of a lion. We trudged on through massacres and misery. We saw people plunged into despair by the dozen. Provoking spirit of criticism! unjustifiable hardness of heart! Not a tear sprang, not a nerve thrilled. It was bad-it was trash; we could not deny it; we laid it by; it was totally out of the question. It would be dishonest in us to recommend it to another, and mere folly to purchase it ourself; and to offer charity to the mysterious bearer of it, we durst not. After a few days she came a gain. The same clear girlish countenance, the same beseeching, timid look, yet not so fearful as before, for a kind of hope shone in her face. She was no longer coming to visit she knew not whom; to meet perchance superciliousness and neglect; but one who, she had undoubtedly already seen, sympathized with her, whether or not he admired her husband's novel. Her embarrassment, too, had disappeared, and her first salutation betrayed that the manuscript was the sole object of her thoughts, and had probably been since our last interview.

"Have you read it?" "I have, madam."

We were silent-she was silent. We wished for the man after Conner's type foundry, but no one came. "I perceive, sir," she at length said, with something of an air, "that either you have not formed an opinion of the work, or else an unfavourable one."

"I confess (there's a cold beginning for you!) "I confess, madam, that although several passages are fine, really fine; indeed, I may say beautiful, yet the plot is-

She turned absolutely pale. We began to fear more tears. Criticism could not stand it. The volume seemed to rise in our estimation. Here was the loveliest little creature in the world in an agony of distress, from which we could rescue her with a word. No, the days of chivalry are not gone for ever. We commenced praising the "Three Spectres," and at every breath the shadows fled away from her face until we were fairly bewitched into writing a note to a certain publisher, who, she said, had promised a tolerable sum for the MS. if it